


Magic Lumen Agency

by Jahamna



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Alternate Universe, Businessman Peter Hale, Emissary in Training Stiles Stilinski, Eventual Smut, Everyone Is Alive, F/F, F/M, Hale Family Feels, Happy Ending, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Pack Feels, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-03-17 19:12:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18971320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jahamna/pseuds/Jahamna
Summary: "Are You a Magical Natural?"His phone was spying on him, that was the only logical answer. Stiles thought that it was really odd at first, how all these strange ads kept popping up on every new page he visited and how relatable all of them were. This one was promoting some kind of magician kit for kids, with a fake wand and all. Nothing to worry about, if not for the fact that he just had a huge freak out at work, where for a moment he almost believed that he was some kind of Karma wizard.-------Or, Stiles is Magic but doesn't know it, Peter tries to discreetly change that by sending strange ads and puzzling messages his way.





	1. Spellbooks for Witchy Babes!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone. So first fiction here, English is not my native language but I used every writing editor out there, so the grammar should be fine. But if it is not, please let me know and I will edit it and try to learn from it. This community helped me a lot during the worst of times and I want to give something back, I hope you enjoy this silly idea. No trigger warnings for this chapter, but I will update the tags as I go. Other than that, this will be a feel-good fic, with some angst sprinkled in there. Enjoy!

                                     

 

_"Are You a Magical Natural? "_

 

His phone was spying on him, that was the only logical answer. Stiles thought that it was really odd at first, how all these strange ads kept popping up on every new page he visited and how relatable all of them were. This one was promoting some kind of magician kit for kids, with a fake wand and all. Nothing to worry about, if not for the fact that he just had a huge freak out at work, where for a moment he almost believed that he was some kind of Karma wizard.

 

This new job he scored was cool and often boring, it was a small, off the beaten path Café, after all. It served mostly locals, old ladies, and the occasional lost soul. But that morning some asshole decided to get on his nerves; the name on the cup wasn't right, the coffee wasn't hot enough, too much sugar, not enough cream. Stiles wanted to scream at that point. But he got through it, plastering a fake smile on his face while keeping his eyes on the cup, willing it to explode with all his might. Until it did just that, spilling all over the guys' tiny hands.

 

The first reaction was panic, written all over his mole dotted face, his heart started pounding at an increasingly rapid pace. The guy was looking at him in stunned silence, and everything seemed to stop for a moment. Then Mr. Jackass uttered a sound between a yelp and a hiss, turned on his heels and stormed out of the building. Stiles couldn’t help himself after that and cracked up, guffawing loudly.

 

Obviously, he then tried to make other things explode with his mind. They didn’t and after a while, Stiles just huffed, laughed a little about the crazy idea and resumed his very boring job. But the thought kept pestering him, refusing to go away, and now this.

 

_“What kind of Witch are you? Take the Test to find out!”_

 

No, he wasn’t going to take that ridiculous test, he was a grown man. A grown man currently in his boxers, laying on the bed with his treacherous phone in one hand and a can of Easy Cheese in the other. And it was delicious, thank you very much.

 

But who was he kidding, he totally was a Green Witch, the test said so, after all.

 

* * *

 

 

Meanwhile, in a secret location, somewhere without windows nor morals, Peter was contemplating his new pet project. His frustrating and oblivious subject was, unfortunately, not very perceptive. Good thing Peter was nothing but patient.

 

Everything started that morning, when an extremely gleeful Erica, his secretary, and Pack member, entered his office without prompting. Sitting on his desk she explained that they found another one and that this time it was promising. What they found was a potential magical individual, a very rare occurrence nowadays.

 

Magic was hiding or dying, or some other bullshit that the elders liked to spew every chance they got. That was sad and all, but the most pressing problem was a lack of Emissaries and an overabundance of Packs in need of one.

 

The solution, in this case, came from people like Peter, that worked relentlessly in order to find anyone that has even a drop of supernatural in them.  Some might say that they spied on humans, but that wasn’t true. Peter liked to think they were only observing, studying. The Magic Lumen Agency used every dirty trick in the book to find new potential, or so they would like to think. Mostly they just frequented the most ridiculous forums, in search of someone that experienced something weird and then tried to do the most useless thing ever, ask the internet about it.

 

That’s how they found him.

 

Username: **theStiles**

 

Object: _‘Am I crazy?’_

 

_‘Guys, I need your helpp! Today was super crazy, I was at work and this asswipe was getting on my nerves. Imagine the worst nightmare of someone working in customer service, and then think of something even worse than that. Well, you have an idea now. I wanted his coffee to just explode all over him, you know? AND THEN IT Did! It exploded, really! Was it a coincidence or am I some kind of karma enforcer?’_

 

Maybe they were simply juvenile delusions of a die-hard Harry Potter fan, they had a lot of those in the past, but it was worth investigating. And investigate they did.

 

Mieczyslaw “theStiles” Stilinski was a nobody with a pretty face. Small town kid with nothing on his name; no achievements, no criminal record, nothing. Single, 23, loves french fries, Disney movies, and sleeping. That’s what his Tinder profile says, anyway. They found a lot of useless details Mieczyslaw decided to share with the world, but nothing conclusive enough to warrant a surprise visit.

 

The Agency could approach the subject only if he was aware of his Magic, and there was indisputable proof of it. That was always problematic, but these were the rules of the game they played. So they had a lot of people scavenging in the shadier parts of the internet, looking for photo or video evidence, while Peter took care of the most promising cases.

 

Here he was now, manipulating some ridiculous ads and sending them to the angry barista, in the hopes of either prove or disprove his findings. His face was stony, but inside he was grinning like a loon, it was going to be a fun chase.

 

_"Spellbooks for Witchy Babes!"_ He typed in a garishly bright pink font and hit send.


	2. "Are you the superstitious type?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles makes a fool of himself, Peter is tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like it, and let me know if you find a mistake or two. <3

“I’m telling you, Scott, someone is meddling with my phone!”

 

With the offending item wedged between shoulder and chin, a big cup of coffee in one hand and his MetroCard in the other Stiles tried to make it out of the Subway in record time. He was running late, as always.

 

There was a pause on the line, and then a muffled groan.

 

“No, you don’t understand, what if it’s the FBI? Or some other secret organization? Maybe there’s my photo out there with “Wanted” written over it.” he insisted, it was a stupid idea, but at that point, he was so anxious that his brain had a hard time keeping up. Mrs. Carrillo was going to sack him, for sure. She's a sweet, overly superstitious old lady, but if there’s something she can’t stand, that’s tardiness.

 

“Stiles, just focus, are you coming home for Christmas or not?” The voice on the other side seemed suddenly far away, great, he was on speaker. His dad was probably there, waiting for him to come up with a feeble excuse as to why he couldn't come home just yet. And that's what prompted him to do it, to just say fuck it and admit that probably it was time to return to Beacon Hills.

 

“Y-yes” he stammered out, breathless. He was rushing, trying not to run into people or spill his almost cold beverage. “I will come h-home for Christmas, Scotty.”

 

Saying it felt surreal, but it was the right thing to do apparently because a collective sigh of relief could be heard through the phone.

 

“Yeah? You sure, buddy? I’m so fucking happy!” the warmth in Scotts’ voice was a welcome reprieve, but then he caught a glimpse of Mrs. Carrillo waiting at the entrance with her arms crossed, and the spell was broken.

 

“Yes, I’m sure, but we’ll talk about it later, kay? I’m at work now.” He assured, trying to compose himself. “We’ll talk, I promise”

 

Mrs. Bad Luck didn’t fire him that day, but it was a close call. To get even, she made him promise to knock on wood every time an unpleasant thought crossed his mind. Before he could stop himself, he asked why and with an enigmatic smile she took a step closer and whispered that it chased away evil spirits.

 

It didn’t take long for Stiles to feel stupid, evil spirits, ridiculous. But Mrs. Carrillo was once again looking his way, expectant, so he hurriedly knocked three times on the table he was attending, before scurrying away without looking at the girl sitting there. She probably thought him unhinged.

 

For a moment he felt that it would be nifty if that little trick really chased away every unwelcome idea. He had a lot of those and the phone call with Scott was one fine example.

 

When he left Beacon Hills, at the age of twenty-one, it was with the promise of returning a changed man. He was a nobody, invisible, and the little town was caging him in day after day. So he packed up and left for New York in hope of finding himself, it seemed such a ridiculous notion now. Two years later and he was still the same unfulfilled boy.

 

Everyone wanted to know why he left, but Stiles didn't have an answer. There was this feeling of emptiness that gnawed at his soul and nothing he did made it stop. It was as if he knew there was someone that needed him out there but couldn't find them. And that was the crux of the issue, he wanted to be needed, to be useful, he wanted to have a purpose. Returning home now, without nothing to show, nothing to tell, tasted suspiciously like failure.

 

His thoughts were getting sour, he glanced down and then quickly averted his eyes, he wasn't going to do that, it was pathetic. Apparently, the crazy lady did something to him because he found himself unable to resist the urge to rap his knuckles on the wooden counter of the bar. He did it once, then twice, and then some more. In no time he was tapping as fast as he could, trying to put all his frustrations into it until something knocked back.

 

At first, Stiles thought it was a pissed customer trying to get his attention, but a quick glance told him that no one else was there. He was alone. Maybe it was the dishwasher or his imagination, he didn’t sleep well the night before. After debating if doing that made him crazier, he let his hand fall, hitting the mahogany surface once more. For a few seconds, nothing happened and then the same sound could be heard, like a disquieting echo.

 

It was probably a bad idea, but he did it again, and again, and again. And every time it yielded the same startling result. In mere minutes he was pounding in earnest on the counter, bent over it with an ear pressed to the surface. Maybe it didn’t scare off evil spirits, maybe it called on them.

 

“Uh... is everything alright?” a concerned voice asked all of sudden, startling Stiles out of his embarrassing behavior.

 

“Yes.. yes, of course. Everything is perfectly alright!” He babbled, straightening up so fast it made him dizzy. “I was just testing the sturdiness of our establishment” He added then, flailing his arms around in a nervous dance.

 

The woman didn’t seem convinced, and after ordering a double latte left the shop in a hurry.

 

It wasn’t until the night descended upon the city and he was once again in his barren home that a notification reminded him of his phone. It was a text from Lydia, asking him if she heard right and he really was coming home. And under that, an ad;

 

_“Are you the superstitious type?”_

 

__

 

* * *

  


Peter was tired in every sense of the word. His could-be magician was still clueless, and the only other subject they found was the most useless being on earth. It was a middle-aged woman, her magical power was meager but still sufficient for a trick or two. Being able to turn into a prickly cactus when annoyed was the most remarkable one.

 

“Can't sleep?” asked Cora, another of his unfortunate packmates, emerging from the shadows. That she took him by surprise was a testament of how exhausted he was.

 

“Not really, I'm just checking some things before going to bed” He explained, rubbing a hand over his face, weary. It wasn’t a lie, but he omitted the photoshop document he opened just minutes before, ready to create another pink monstrosity to send his new friend.

 

“With some things you mean your little project? How's that coming along?” She asked, managing to sound bored and inquisitive at the same time. She was clever, he had to give her that.

 

He took some time to think it over before responding. “it's complicated, but I think I have something this time.”

 

She didn’t seem impressed, and the flat tone of her voice was proof enough of that. “Uncle, it’s been weeks, maybe he's not magic after all” She pressed on, then in a whisper added  “...And Deucalion is getting impatient. Maybe it's time to move on.”

 

That was a mild way of putting it, Deucalion was not only getting impatient, but he was also desperate. He needed an Emissary, a strong one, to keep in check all his puppies. Peter more than once urged him to choose from the ones they already found, but none of them were powerful enough, not even cactus-lady. Maybe changing tactics was not such a bad idea after all.

 

“I will think about it.” He lied through his teeth while thinking about his next move. He was just starting to warm up to his obtuse friend, it would be a shame to let it go now. Maybe it was time to pay his little magician a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They will meet in the next chapter, pinky promise.


	3. "Do it, you filthy animal!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is intrigued, Stiles takes good advice from a bad source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Like promised, the first meeting is here.  
> As always, let me know if you find any mistakes and if you want to be friends my PMs are always open, I'm pretty new to the fandom and fanfiction writing in general. I would love to find a Beta reader, but maybe it's better to get some more experience before trying to find one. I hope you like the chapter, enjoy!

Breakfast was always a chaotic affair at his house, and Peter liked it that way. He was born into a family that was as outlandish as it was large, so chaos wasn't an issue. Quite the contrary, it reminded him of home. 

 

The first to rise was always Boyd, at what ungodly hour he didn't know, but every morning he would come down the stairs to find his silent Beta already there, trying and failing to prepare something edible. Today was no exception.

 

“What are we burning today, Boyd?” He inquired gently, with a knowing smile. Peter knew very well what his packmate was trying to do, but watching him wrinkle his nose in distaste was always a delight. It was a sweet mating dance he and Erica participated in, she would make them home-cooked lunch, and Boyd would try to cook breakfast. ‘Try’ being the key word there.

 

“Ok, let’s make something easy for everyone. What do you say?” He asked, watching Boyd looking at his spatula like he was seeing it for the first time. “Let’s do Pancakes, I’ll show you how.”

 

The grateful smile he got in return was worth it.

 

Then, summoned by the food smell, it was time for Cora to make an appearance. She would waltz down the stairs, steal whatever was for breakfast and then watch for the hundredth time some crime show reruns, insulting loudly all the characters and their stupid choices. 

“Are you kidding me, Richard? Are you that kind of stupid?” Ah, Castle always made her mad.

 

Erica was next, she would roam aimlessly around the apartment before spotting Boyd, launching herself at him and thanking him for the breakfast he didn’t make.

 

Sometimes there was Derek, too, if he decided to wake up and grace them with his gloomy presence. Today was not that day, but Peter didn’t linger on it for too long, he had more pressing matters to think about. Matters with unpronounceable polish names.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


For the first time in his life, Stiles wasn’t late. In fact, It was so damn early that the streets lamps were still on. It was a chilly morning, and on top of that, it was raining. In days like these, even Mrs. Carrillo ancient Cafe seemed cozy and comfortable, with its’ curvilinear yellow chairs and old wooden tables.

 

He didn’t have a routine for this kind of situation, he was never the first to arrive, but if he wanted to keep this job it was time to create one. So he opened the doors, turned on all the vintage lamps scattered around the lounges, swept the floors, played some dumb game on his phone, swept the floors again, turned on the coffee machines. He was trying to catch Vulpix when the tingle of the bell over the door made him lose concentration.

 

“Fuck, I almost had it!” He swore under his breath, before looking up and swearing a second time, for a different reason altogether. There was a man at the counter, and he was so out of place in this charmingly run-down place that Stiles did a double take.

 

There was dark and handsome, and then there was this guy. With his well-tailored look, silky ash brown hair and a captivating aura. Stiles must have lost track of time, with his mouth hanging open like a fish because the next thing he knew was that the strangers' lips were moving but no sound was coming out.

 

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” He asked, coming back to himself quite suddenly.

 

“I was just wondering if you were already open for business.” Explained the stranger, with a small reassuring smile on his lips. He had a deep and cultured voice, so warm and familiar that Stiles just wanted him to narrate his life. He probably got that a lot.

 

“Y-es, yes, we are. What can I get you?” 

 

“Coffee, sweet, with a lot of caramel” The order was a familiar one at least, all the old ladies that frequented the shop liked coffee that way. The thought put a brief smile on his face. He lost himself in the familiar motions, trying to placate his little queer heart that was racing like mad. The man was attractive, but that was no excuse for bad service. That sounded suspiciously like Mrs. Carrillo.

 

“... Magic, don’t you think?” Oh god, he lost himself again, and now this hot guy was talking about magic. It was probably a dream and Stiles would soon wake up all sweaty and gross. Lately Magic was all he could think about, and it was maddening.

 

“Sorry? I didn’t catch that.” The customer probably thought him daft.

 

But the man just smiled broadly, understanding, then took a sip of his sugary treat. “I was just commenting on the weather, it’s magical this time of the year, don’t you think?” 

 

“Oh, that kind of magical. Yes, it is.”

 

* * *

  
  
  


Peter was trying to be nonchalant, but it was hard when his magical suspect was so charming and amusing.

 

The most interesting thing about Stilinski was his ever-changing state, his scent, his heart, his voice were all heavily influenced by his emotions. And his emotions were colorful, strong, sudden. He was projecting everything.

 

It was almost a hypnotic experience for the Alpha, that found himself rooted in place and unable to leave. The plan was to get coffee, familiarize himself with the surroundings, scent the boy and then leave, but he couldn't do it. He sat down in one of the horrendous bright yellow chairs instead and tried to look collected while keeping an eye on the lively barista.

 

There was something peculiar in his scent, something Peter couldn’t place. It was energy buzzing, like a wild thing beating in a cage, trying to escape. It was the faint smell of burnt leaves and ashes. He never encountered anything like it, and it was so out of place that for a moment he let himself believe that the boy really was magic. Maybe he could ask Deaton to research the matter, after bribing him with some of his oldest tomes about the supernatural, of course.

 

He sat there for almost an hour, playing a fun little game with Mieczysław, made of furtive glances and shy smiles. He could smell the attraction, and it made him feel heady. Heady enough to leave his number written on a napkin before leaving. Consequences be damned.

 

_ “ That’s my number, call me. Peter.” _

 

* * *

  
  


That night found Stiles lying on his bedroom floor, looking up at a light blue napkin with a number written on it. It was a neat scrawl, very fitting. When he found it he was stunned, and for a moment believed it was intended for someone else, but the only people in the shop were a couple of elderly ladies and himself, and he didn’t think they even knew what a phone was. 

 

He was hesitating, biting his nails, what if it was all a trick? What if the number was fake? Maybe Peter thought he was easy. Ugh.

 

Just at that moment, his phone pinged with a new notification. It was a recent spam email, one he didn’t unsubscribe from because of its entertainment value. It was full of the most hilarious Horoscopes that made him crack up every time.

 

_ “ **Aries** , _

_ Something strange may happen today. Your big horns will get you some attention, and you may experience the desire to do a tribal mating dance to show off. I’m here to tell you that you should do it, you filthy and beautiful animal. Do it! DO IT!” _

 

Well, if that was not a sign, he thought. Maybe getting advice from sketchy emails that most of the time insulted him was not a sign of good mental stability, but there was no one to judge him for it, so it was perfectly alright.

 

**To HotStranger:**

Hello, this is Stiles

**To HotStranger:**

Stiles the barista, from this morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to insert some sweet Erica/Boyd in there, they deserve it.


	4. "Batman or Superman?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter makes rash decisions, Stiles is a nervous wreck.

“What if he doesn’t write back?” Repeated Stiles, rolling around on the floor with a pillow clutched to his chest.

 

“Then he is a fool.” Pointed out matter of factly Lydia on the other side of the line. He left his phone somewhere on his bed, far away, but the voice boomed with finality all the same. 

 

Who would have thought that the redhead would become one of his most fervent supporters and his best friend? Not him. He, in all his teenage delusions, thought she would become his wife. And then years of pining and obsession just fizzled out one day, leaving him confused and alone. So he tried to find interest in something else; studies, sports, crochet, more studies. And that got him closer to Lydia than never before, this time as an invaluable ally.

 

“But what if-”

 

“Stiles” A frustrated sigh. “What if nothing, you are a catch and if the imbecile doesn’t see that, that’s his problem.”

 

She was always to the point, a yin to his raving yang, thought Stiles, now laying on his stomach like a dead fish.

 

“Look, I just don’t have the best track record when it comes to hot strangers.” He muttered, almost wishing she didn’t hear that. 

 

“That was ONE time, ONE. Stop using it as an excuse for whatever you’re doing now.” Easy for her to say, things like these didn't happen to her, only he had the right charm to attract that kind of attention.

 

“I thought it was a date, Lydia, a date!” He was full on whining now. “And then she- she just got all these papers out and asked if I wanted to star in a pimple cream advertisement!”

 

There was a pause and then a barely stifled laughter. 

 

“It’s not funny, It’s tragic”

 

He was about to start ranting again when his phone pinged with a new message. He was on his bed in seconds, reaching between the covers, trying to find it. The anticipation was killing him, patience was not one of his strong suits. This enthusiasm for a simple text was a testament of how dull his life was lately. Work, sleep, work, eat, sleep. 

 

“-tiles, Stiles, are you even listening to me?” 

 

“Yes, I am.” He replied, trying to sound offended. “What did you say?”

 

“Oh, he replied, didn’t he? That’s why you’re ignoring me now.” She guessed, far too used to his antics. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. But don’t think I forgot about your promise to come home, we miss you and if you don’t come back I will release all those photos we took at the Jungle.” She added then, threatening, before hanging up. 

 

That was harsh, he wasn’t going to change his mind. He couldn't, the news spread like wildfire in Beacon Hills and he was sure that at this point even the cashier at Walmart knew he was coming home. 

 

He found his phone, at last. Unlocked the screen in record time and there it was, a message.

  
  


**From HotStranger:**

**(16:52)**

_ Hello, Stiles. I’m glad you decided to text me. Can I ask you something? _

 

A little spiteful part of his heart wanted to make Peter wait, but his fingers were already fumbling with the keys.

 

**From Stilinski:**

**(16:53)**

_ sure, you are not an agent for an ad campaign, are u?  _

 

He had to make sure. 

 

**From HotStranger:**

**(16:57)**

_ No, why do you ask? _

 

**From Stilinski:**

**(17:00)**

_ oh, good good, no reason. what did u want to ask me? _

 

**From HotStranger:**

**(17:01)**

_ O-ok.I was just wondering if Stiles was a nickname, it seems so peculiar. _

 

**From Stilinski:**

**(17:04)**

_ it is, but my real name is a secret, so i'm not gonna tell u. ;)  If u are not an agent, what do u do? _

 

**From HotStranger:**

**(17:07)**

_ Oh, a secret? Intriguing. I run a little business, a law firm. Hope I wasn’t too forward with the number and all, but I would really like to see you again. _

 

**From Stilinski:**

**(17:11)**

_ a law firm? That sounds like a grown-up kind of work. sure, but we don’t know each other very well, maybe we can play 20 questions? :P _

 

**From HotStranger:**

**(17:12)**

_ Are you calling me old, you little punk? Ask away- _

 

**From Stilinski:**

**(17:14)**

_ i would never. ;) favourite film? _

 

**From HotStranger:**

**(17:15)**

_Oh, I see how it is. Practical Magic, and yours?_  

 

* * *

 

  
  
Peter was having fun, for the first time in years he didn’t think about anything. Stiles was surprisingly easy to talk to, and not at all dumb as he thought at first. It was astonishing how even behind a screen he was able to display all his emotions so effortlessly. With his silly emoticons, impatient abbreviations, impertinent questions. Peter had it bad.

 

He was debating the merits of Superman versus Batman when someone walked in his office without knocking. Only a handful of people could do that without repercussion, and Erica had the night off that day.

 

“Deucalion, to what do I owe the pleasure?” deadpanned Peter, without taking his eyes off the phone. He would recognize that acrid and vile scent anywhere.

 

“Just a friendly visit, Alpha” drawled the intruder, spitting out the last word like venom. There was nothing friendly in his tone. Friendly and Deucalion lived on two different planets.

 

“How nice of you” he lied, knowing full well that the other wolf would pick up on it. The statement was met by silence, so he finally raised his head and pinned him with a resigned look. “But I’m not in the mood for your little games, so what do you really want?”

 

“You know what I want, Peter. I WANT an Emissary” Hissed Deucalion, maintaining a threatening stance. But that didn’t change the fact that it was a lie. He didn’t want and Emissary, he needed one, and that made all the difference. Deucalion was a fierce leader, with a competitive streak a mile wide and an unmanageable pack. He was surrounded with people that only respected power, while he himself didn’t have any. Defiance ran rampant in his ranks. He needed an Emissary because he needed power, even if burrowed.

 

“Desperation doesn’t look good on you, Deuc” He noted, trying to sound collected, one of them needed to keep their composure. 

 

“Will it look good on you, I wonder? Guess we’ll see.” 

 

That was a threat if he ever heard one, and the menacing scowl directed at him was proof enough of that. Unfortunately, he wasn’t as unaffected as he would like to think, the self-proclaimed Demon Wolf was too unpredictable. And if Deucalion needed an Emissary, then Peter needed him in the same way. He loved his pack, but the hard truth is that it’s small, and not that relevant in the big supernatural community. Their allies are far and few in between because no one wants to be associated with the weaker Hale pack when the real thing is so much stronger. 

 

The Alpha pack alliance was a luxury they couldn’t afford to lose.

 

“Okay, listen, I think I found someone for you.” he said after a while in a placating tone, hiding his clawed hands under the table. It was a gamble, he wasn’t sure that Stiles has any magic in him, but what Deucalion didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. As for Stilinski, it was true that he was attracted to the boy, but loyalty was the most important thing for Peter, especially loyalty to his own pack. The could-be magician would understand his reasoning, probably, maybe or maybe not, but that wasn’t an issue anyway.

 

“If I’m right, and you know I am, then this could be the answer to all your problems.” promised Peter, with a shark smile on his face. “This guy could be really powerful, I just need some time.”

 

Deucalion seemed placated enough when he left his office, only growling a few times before slamming the door on his way out. Now he just needed Stiles to prove him right, and then he needed a way to make being the Demon Wolf Emissary appealing enough.

 

Something didn’t sit right in the back of his mind, but he just dismissed it and took out his phone.

 

**To Stilinski:**

**(20:04)**

_ Batman far outclasses Superman, and you know it. But I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, how about we discuss it over coffee? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are you doing, Peter?


	5. "In the mood for something magical.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A charged coffee date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got swamped with work, but here it is, hope you enjoy. :)

Stiles was buzzing with energy the day of the coffee date, literally. Everything he touched seemed to radiate power, even his hair was static and pointing in all directions. Nervous couldn’t even begin to describe the state he was in.

 

He and Peter texted for days, talking about the most ridiculous things. About his boring job, his family, Scott and his hero complex. For the first time in two years, he felt whole, alive, reinvigorated. That’s why he didn’t particularly care if his new friend never talked about his whereabouts or his family, and if he did end mentioning something private it was always accidental. 

 

The ads didn’t get any less weird, they almost seemed to be getting more specific. He didn’t mention anything to Peter, it was still too early in their relationship to divulge that Stiles thought he was magic and a greater power was manipulating stupid ads to make him realize the truth. It was nonsensical, but his mind couldn’t stop spinning. 

 

He was early, his date wasn’t there yet so he took a seat in one of the plush chairs and waited. Stiles chose the place, it was a quiet little cafe with delicious pastries and his favorite coffee. For a moment he let himself relax and drift, lulled by the sound of people talking in hushed voices, the relaxing humming of the barista, the clatter of ceramic cups being washed. Regrettably, it didn’t last long, so he decided to order coffee, one with caramel and too much sugar for Peter, and one black for himself. He was tapping his fingers in an irregular rhythm when the narrow door opened, and his date stepped in.

 

He couldn’t believe that a man like that would ever ask him out, but a voice that sounded suspiciously like Lydia, or maybe his therapist, was telling him to stop overthinking and enjoy it. He stood up and fumbled with his sleeves, waving when Peter caught his eyes. The man was all sharp lines and confidence, a direct contrast to the soft smile playing on his lips.

 

It took him only a couple of strides to reach the table and outstretch his hand for a handshake. “Hello Stiles, It's nice to see you again” 

 

“Hi” he greeted back, unsure, it looked more like a business meeting than a date, Peter certainly looked the part, with his immaculate suit. It was already awkward, so he smiled briefly and pointed at the big cup on the table. “I bought you coffee, with a lot of caramel.”

 

Peter seemed to be taken aback for a second, before beaming at him. “Thank you, it’s very thoughtful of you. Did you decide when you’re going home, in the end?” He asked after sitting down, trying to make small talk. Stiles was still basking in the praise, it was particularly nice, being appreciated for such a small gesture.

 

“Yes, Scott insisted and pleaded until I accepted to go home two days early. There will be a fair in Beacon Hills and he wants me to perform the part of a third wheel, for old time sakes.” Talking about his friends was always easy, he cherished all of them, even when they gave the worst advice, or talked about their significant other for hours. He was about to recount another nostalgic story when he heard a sharp intake of air. It was Peter, with a surprised expression on his face.

 

“Beacon Hills? I didn't know you lived there“

 

There was a pause, while Stiles tired to remember if he ever talked about it.

 

“You wouldn't because I'm pretty sure I didn't mention it. How do you know Beacon Hills?“ For a moment the expression on the man’s face was almost pained.

 

“My Family is from there, maybe you recognize Talia-”

 

“Hale, yes. She works with my father, very lovely but scary woman” He met her a few times in the past, she was intimidating, a true prosecutor. 

 

“That’s about right. What does your father do?” Peter seemed to know the answer already, his tone more resigned than inquisitive.

 

“He's the Sheriff, didn't I already tell you that?"

 

* * *

  
  
The Sheriff of Beacon Hills, how could he let something like that slip through the cracks. Talia would not be happy to discover that he had his eyes on the Stilinski kid, she was of the idea that magic should be left alone, easy for her to say with one of the most powerful Emissaries of the continent in her pack. Sometimes Peter wondered if she just didn’t want to lose her standing, and that’s why she was so against the idea of finding potential powerful people.

 

He looked back at Stiles, who was now reminiscing about the first time he and his friend Scott skipped school, it was endearing. There was something even more charged about the boy today, the scent of burned leaves more pungent and sharp. No other human smelled like that to him. When he asked Deaton about it, the information he received was questionable at best. 

 

‘It could be important, yes, the earthy scent is sometimes connected to great magical power, or he could be a gardener. Just keep a close watch on sudden spikes in it.’ 

Explained the vet thought the phone two days prior, and that was it, the impressive and impressively useless advice of one Alan Deaton. And to think that he traded one particularly rare handbook for it.

 

Stiles was now animatedly debating about the difference between the book and the film version of the Hunger Games series. His eyes, alight with excitement, seemed to glow in the dim light of the cafe. Peter couldn't tear his gaze away from the goofy smile playing on the boy’s lips, his hand twitched in his lap, he wanted to touch those dimples so badly. 

 

“I liked the film, the soundtrack was great.” He interjected, leaning forward a little without even realizing that he was doing it. Peter was not a young pup, he had some restraint, or so he thought before the next words came tumbling down from his mouth.

 

“Would you like to come home with me?”

 

* * *

  
  
Stiles closed his mouth with a snap, he was speechless. Did he hear that right? Looking out of the window he noted that yes, it was still the middle of the day, and Peter was asking him to come home with him. Something must have shown on his face because a moment later Peter's eyes widened comically in realization.

 

“No, not that way. Just to watch a film?” He asked, looking almost unsure. “You said that you haven’t watched anything in a while because you didn’t have time, so I thought that it would be a good idea.” Stiles smiled, that was so considerate, it made him light-headed.

 

“Oh” He said, and then repeated it for good measure. “Oh, yeah, we can do that.”

 

The man beamed at him, smiling broadly. “I can make dinner if you like” He suggested.

 

“I’d love that, what are we going to watch?” And he really would, he was so tired of pre-cooked food and instant ramen.

 

“What about a Harry Potter marathon? I’m in the mood for something magical.”

 

Stiles coughed, almost spitting his coffee all over the table.


End file.
